


Stock and Barrel

by megyal



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Locks/Chains] Matt has an interest in John's handcuffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stock and Barrel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) | [my card](http://i50.tinypic.com/fxxlqu.jpg)

Out of the blue one morning, Matt asked, "How comes you didn't put the cuffs on me that day?"

John, who had been gripping his massive mug of coffee in both hands (attempting to lift it in the general direction of his mouth with the pained movements of a person who a) had spent an inordinate amount of precious hours a few days ago staking a suspect and b) was simply not made for mornings), set down the cup on the counter; he stared at the steam wafting from the surface of the black liquid before his brain located second gear.

"What day?" he said, a hoarse croak. Matt reached around him, standing close enough for John to smell his own shampoo in Matt's hair, made even darker since it was still damp. John could smell his soap on Matt's skin; there was a bright flash in John's mind to the gloom of his bedroom last night, of Matt asking to be pinned down while John's cock slid against his. Now, Matt placed a slice of slightly burned toast in John's hand, the crusty smell and the crumbly feel of it against his fingers dragging him back to the present; a wisp of the memory, of Matt's mouth falling open with low groans, still competed with the too-bright quality of the morning.

He was going to be pretty fucked at the station today, that was for fucking sure.

Matt gave him a quick, incredulous glance as he bit into his own buttered toast and chewed. It was the kind of look a teacher would bestow on a particularly difficult student.

"That day," he said after he'd swallowed and took a sip of soda (_soda, in the morning_, John thought, distantly fond). "The day we met. When you knocked on the door of my apartment. The same apartment you blew up, like, ten minutes after. It wasn't exactly an auspicious beginning, I have to say."

"I didn't blow your place up." John frowned down at his coffee again, trying to convince himself to restart the process of actual consumption. "You were the target. I saved your ass, remember?" John never got tired of reminding him. From Matt's quick grin, he didn't have a big problem with being reminded.

That was good.

"I saved you back. Anyway, Holly says you have a bull's-eye for bombs painted on your back, so, you know, that clears a lot up for me. But you haven't answered the question."

Yeah, John wasn't too comfortable with the fact that his ex-wife and his lover were on suspiciously comfortable terms, but he was dealing with it. He had an idea that Holly did it to make him squirm, and Matt did it because he really wanted to get along with everyone, despite his anarchist tendencies; John just kept out of their way when they huddled up in some corner, exchanging notes. So he shoved that away and tried to remember what Matt had been talking about.

"The cuffs thing? You weren't charged for anything." John took a big bite of his toast. "I was just told to pick you up, take you into custody. So I did."

"But I could have been dangerous, or something," Matt said and how did he get a bowl of cereal so fast? John wasn't even half-done with his toast, and there was Matt chowing into a bowl of some chocolaty crap. Briefly, John wondered why they always ate breakfast standing up like this, as if they didn't have time to park their asses on the stools nearby or even take five freaking steps into the tiny dining room and sit at the table; but John usually never had breakfast anyway, so at least this eating in the morning was a relatively good thing, standing up or not. Matt seemed to take it in stride, and this habit had been all theirs for the past four months or so.

"Please," John said and handed over the toast to Matt, claiming the bowl. Matt made soft, complaining whimpers but let the bowl go anyway, eating the rest of the dry toast. "You weren't dangerous."

"I could have been." Matt looked at him very seriously, and John felt his forehead wrinkle into skeptical lines.

"What the hell are you asking me that for?" John asked; he wasn't really expecting a straight answer, because sometimes Matt asked weird crap just for asking's sake, especially in the morning when he damn well knew that John wasn't operating on all cylinders as yet. If Matt gave him one of his half-joking, half-serious reasons, John would just head for the bathroom and take a shower.

Instead, Matt threw him a curve-ball, as he did quite frequently. He shrugged, a quick movement of his narrow shoulders and simply said, "Handcuffs. They're hot."

*

It hit John fully when he was at the station and saw a beat-cop dragging in a perp, some scruffy, struggling, swearing dude.

_Handcuffs_, Matt had said and his gaze had been so intent, even if he had sounded so careless. _Handcuffs. They're hot_.

"Fuck me," John said, pen held tightly in his hand and hovering over the final lines of a report, momentarily forgotten.

"I would," Detective Robert Stewart, affectionately called Bobby Stew, said from the desk which was crammed in next to John's. "But my wife would kill me for fucking McClane before she got the chance."

"Well, go fuck yourself, then," John said, tone mild and mind half-gone, already on the way home to Matt.

Bobby Stew sighed, heavily. "I get that from my wife too."

*

Instead of using his key, John banged on the door to his own apartment, and waited a few moments.

He beat on the door once more, feeling the wood shiver underneath his fist; when he heard Matt's response, annoyed and incoherent, he allowed himself a small smile and then composed his face at the moment he thought Matt was squinting through the peephole at him. He let the expression slide a bit more into harsh territory when he heard the locks being undone and Matt yanked the door open. Matt was wearing his glasses, which John secretly found quite endearing, and he was leveling a stare of sheer disgruntlement, which John found surprisingly hot.

"What the fuck, McClane? Don't you have your keys on you?"

"You're going to want to watch your mouth, kid," John said. "Are you Matthew Farrell?"

Matt's face was a study in confusion. "What--"

"I'm Detective Lieutenant McClane." John flashed his badge and quick as anything, he had his handcuffs in his other hand, holding them at the ready. He shook them a little in front of Matt's face. "And I'm here to take you in, Mr. Farrell."

Matt stared at him for a very long time, so long that John began to wonder if he'd misunderstood. Then, Matt reached out and touched the cold metal, his eyes wide. He said, very faintly, "Please come in for a moment, Detective Lieutenant."

He turned and walked away. John frowned at his back, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, turning the locks without looking at them. He raised his eyebrows as Matt began shedding his clothing, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it over the back of the sofa. He was stepping out of his jeans when he passed the threshold of the bedroom door; when John got into the bedroom, he saw it lying in an abandoned heap near the armchair he had dragged with him from city to city, house to apartment.

When he looked up from Matt's jeans, he stared at the way Matt was stretched out on the bed, naked with his arms over his head. He shifted his legs when John's gaze rode up their lean lines, and his cock, already half-hard, stiffened even more under John's inspection.

Matt's fingers were curled against the vertical slats of the headboard, and they twitched when John knelt on the bed. He let one hand slide slowly up along Matt's forearm, dragging up goosebumps in its wake. When he got to the bony wrist, he locked a cuff around it, feeding the other through a narrow space between the square strips of timber to get to the other hand. When he'd checked if Matt's skin wasn't being rubbed too much by the stainless steel (the wood of the headboard might suffer under the short chain, but that wasn't John's concern right now), he looked down at Matt's face, brushing the dark hair from his forehead.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." Matt's expression was simultaneously aroused and peaceful. John was wondering what he was _really_ getting out of this, when Matt tilted up his chin so he could kiss John's palm. It was an uncommonly sweet action, and he was spread out there on the bed, ready and waiting for John to do what he wanted. Thing was, he didn't even look as if he was chained to the headboard. He just looked...ready. Far more calm than usual, unlike those times he would clutch at John, restlessly roaming all over his skin until John got exasperated from the tickling sensation and held him down.

John cupped his jaw with one hand and rubbed his thumb against Matt's lips, slipping it in when Matt opened his mouth. He let Matt lick and suck on it, feeling himself harden at the flicker of tongue. Matt looked up at him in such a trusting manner, handcuffed there _to the bed_ and John was starting to feel blown away.

People didn't trust him so easily. They shouldn't; yet, this kid was in John's sunken bed, hands locked over his head and now nibbling the pad of John's thumb like a kitten, as if this was how it should always be.

John went to the bathroom, washing his hands and retrieving the lube from the medicine cabinet. He returned to undress, not looking at Matt but feeling the weight of his regard as he unstrapped his gun and put it away. As soon as he was fully naked, he crawled between those surprisingly long legs and slid down; he hooked Matt's knees over his shoulders so he could suck his cock, lapping at the precome seeping from the slit, and get at his hole at the same time. He felt weird and awkward doing that, since Matt was the first man he ever went down on, but Matt's sharp breaths and strangled moans were always pretty gratifying.

When John opened him up some and finally slid into his tight, slick warmth, Matt had his eyes closed, fingers twisting to try and feel the metal of the restraints. John reached up and held onto his wrists, just below the stainless steel cuffs and Matt arched up into the quickening thrusts, their stomachs and chests now sweaty against each other. Matt wasn't as loud as he usually was. All that nervous energy was mostly gone, and when John bit on his shoulder, fingers interlaced with Matt's, Matt let out a single, huge exhale as he tightened around John's dick, his own cock jerking between them and releasing stripes of slick come all over Matt's chest.

John took just a bit longer to come, trying not to pound too hard into his sated body, but Matt stared up at him with unsettling patience. John had to press his forehead against Matt's sweaty collarbone as their skin slapped together, because he wasn't sure if he could take that half-lidded gaze.

Too much. He was chained by it.

Matt wanted to keep the cuffs on as they slept, but John unlocked them, ignoring his drowsy protests. He placed them on the night-table on Matt's side of the bed, and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

"Thanks," he muttered against the back of Matt's neck, when he knew Matt was fast asleep.

_fin_


End file.
